


Precious

by TheAllpowerfulOZ



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: M/M, Repost from my old FF.Net
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 19:24:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2440055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAllpowerfulOZ/pseuds/TheAllpowerfulOZ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AC Kink Meme Fill #1<br/>A kiss with a fist is better than none...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Precious

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PRECIOUS

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The first time it happened was after a battle. A bloody test for strength, that had started with a simple yes or no question; Will I die today?

Thankfully the answer had been 'No' and that night, both of them bandaged, sore and full of more adrenaline than was safe, they fell together, tangled, scratching and biting like angry cats, pulling and tearing with teeth and nails, Malik's fist even connected solidly with Altair's left eye once, leaving it swollen and bruised a livid purple in the morning.

They didn't speak for a week after that.

And then again, a contest. Someone making a snide comment that the new Master only kept Malik around out of guilt, and if there had been any sense of mercy about anyone all that time ago, they would have just let Malik bleed to death and die honorably.

Hearing that, Malik proceeded to beat the living daylights out of that particular young assassin, surprising everyone on how well, and how thoroughly he'd trounced the little jerk.

His heart thrumming from the excitement of earning back some of the respect lost at his injury, Malik stalked like a desert beast through the halls, fuming. Eyes wild, nostrils flared.

He found Altair in his study bent over that damned orb, writing quickly in a puzzle like mash of languages and codes.

Malik grabbed him by his hood and threw him out of his chair against the wall.

For a few moments he was dazed, that was until Malik's mouth crushed over his own, his nimble blunt fingers pulling and tearing at his clothes, growling and hissing.

Altair bit him twice, bloodying his lower lip in his struggle not to be pinned, and they snarled angrily at one another, cursing and throwing insults as Altair forced him over his desk, the orb rolling off under the bed somewhere like a forgotten child's toy.

It wasn't sex. Sex implied gentleness, implied emotions other than rivalry and contempt. This was pure, unadulterated fucking.

Like animals in heat. A brutal and almost hateful act of sweat and forceful thrusts…

Words never were enough between the two of them. Neither one knew how to name what they felt, neither knew how to explain why they climaxed with such primal, emptying deepness when they came together.

It went on like that for months. The 'episodes' becoming more and more frequent, until it seemed they just layered bruises, scratches and bites over still bloody marks on their skin.

After it was over they didn't draw one another into a soothing, loving embrace. After it was over, Malik shoved him away with an angry snarl, yanked his clothes on as if he'd hated and felt disgusted by every moment of their coupling, despite the fact that between his curses and name calling he'd demanded faster, harder, more his temper flaring to the point that he'd throw Altair off and straddle him, grinding and curling his fingers like claws into the flesh of Altair's chest and arms.

It was during one of these moments, Malik pinned to the bed, half clothed with his trousers open and his fingers curled into Altair's hair, pulling at his ear and making it bleed, that something changed.

Altair's grip on his elbow loosened, and he shifted his weight a little more to the left…

Malik unbalanced him quickly, shoving him face first into the pillows, bending his body over Altair's back to hold him down, knees on the younger man's feet to keep him from kicking.

He didn't know what it was, not consciously, but Altair turned his face so he wouldn't suffocate, glaring and twisting furiously… But not hard enough to free himself.

Malik took him hard, and Altair found himself almost incapable of speaking, teeth tearing a hole in the pillow, growling, spit foaming in the corners of his lips, scratching at the back of Malik's hand where it slipped and slid on his stomach.

He came with obliterating force, blacking out for a few breathless moments, the older man's weight pinning him to the bed, breath puffing and huffing against his shoulder.

Malik rolled off of him a few seconds later, and lie panting, sucking plaintively on the bloody scratches on his wrist.

And it was like something opened a curtain, letting light stream in, illuminating everything.

A cold weight settled into Altair's stomach and his ears started ringing.

Malik's eyes flicked to him, and he drew his bloody wrist from his lips, giving the young Master a shake. Concern crinkled his brow and he sat quickly up, fingers working back into Altair's body, making sure he hadn't torn the other man, then letting his hand slap hard across his buttocks, jumping away with an evil laugh when Altair gave an indignant howl and arched away.

Malik was still cackling as he fled the room, holding his trousers closed, robes fluttering loose over his whole arm.

Altair didn't talk to him for a week, and tried not even to be in the man's presence for longer, but Malik was an insufferable ass sometimes, and he found a way to follow him, leaning over his shoulder in the library to ask in a devious voice if Altair was still sore, or of he needed a pillow to sit on so as to ease his bruised pride. And, what would the novices think if they knew their Master had been forcefully pinned and taken by a cripple.

Altair would bare his teeth and swipe at him then, feeling spiteful and angry, becoming terribly impatient with Malik's gloating, and unwilling to be alone with him for fear of him figuring out the true reasons for his standoffishness.

After that Malik had darted away again, poking out his sharp blade of a tongue and grinning in that sarcastic crooked way Altair only remembered from their youth.

He couldn't sleep from the worry. Felt constantly nauseous when Malik was near, even sitting across from the man at meals became a chore, because as soon as Malik caught him staring, he'd deliver a sharp, harsh kick to Altair's shins under the table.

Every jab, every insult thrown, or slap on the back of his head when he turned his back from the man bit deeper and deeper into him.

He'd tried to talk. Tried to pull Malik aside into a quiet private room and talk to him civilly. But Malik had taken everything he'd said, twisted it, shouted that he was being immature, and he was just afraid and ashamed to have been pinned, and thatAltair was weak, was unable to handle losing, unable to stand that he couldn't dominate everyone, and if he truly wanted to dominate someone there were plenty of women who would give up their virtue just for the chance of catching his eye.

It didn't mater what he said, Malik turned it against him, berated him until he just wanted to slap the one armed man. Wanted to force his face into the mattress and show him exactly who was stronger. He wanted to knock Malik's pride—

And there it was…

Pride, again.

And he couldn't do it. His pride had already cost him too much, and as much as he wanted to make Malik stop twisting his words and just LISTEN to him, he knew it wasn't going to happen, because Malik, for all his talk of deflating Altair's ego, had an ego of his own.

Biting his tongue had never hurt so much, and pushing past him, Altair left the study, walking quickly away to his room and barring the door.

Malik, of course followed him. Shouting and ranting like a madman, throwing books at him, and then pounding his fist against the door until Altair was sure his knuckles would bleed.

And he just sat at his desk, hands fisted in his lap, head pressing between the pages of a thick tome trying to think of a way to make Malik stop and listen to him, but finding no alternative but pinning the man, gagging him and fumbling through the words.

A scraping sound at the window stole his attention and he turned his head in shock, staring with wide eyes.

"You stupid—" He stood so fast his chair fell over.

Malik was not entirely helpless, he knew that for a fact. But he hadn't expected the man to still be able to scale the face of a building with only one hand.

Malik was halfway between the balcony in Altair's study, and the window to his private room. Suspended on a miniscule ledge between two ill fitting pieces of stone some fifty feet or more above the cliff's sheer drop…

And not just that. The stubborn ass was inching his way along to Altair's window, his face set in a grim line, teeth bared like a mad dog.

A shiver of anticipation ran up Altair's spine, and as he watched, eyes wide, leaning out the window, Malik inched along until he was kicking Altair's head out of the way and swinging himself into the room.

Sweat beaded on his brow, and he seemed out of breath, but he came at Altair with inhuman energy.

They fought.

No fucking, no pretense of anything besides fists and angry words.

Insults thrown like daggers, cutting holes that would never heal, anger boiled like poison.

Malik didn't know anyone else was in the room until someone grabbed him by the wrist, and pulled his hood over his face, effectively blinding him.

He was wrestled out of the room like a traitor and shut in his own.

By the time night had fallen Malik had pulled every book from his shelves and thrown it in his agitation. Had cut notches in his door from the multitude of throwing knifes he'd hurled with deadly accuracy at its surface. Had overturned his desk and in a fit of rage stripped off his coat and robes and begun pacing like an angry bull across the rugs.

He didn't hear the door open. Didn't hear anyone enter. Just suddenly became aware of the white blur in the corner of his eye and turned toward it with a snarl.

If Altair had been armed, Malik would have thrown a knife at him.

But the fact he was standing there in only a short tunic and trousers, his feet bare, toes curled into his soles on the cold stone, gave Malik pause, and instead, he stomped over and drove his knife into the door two inches from Altair's left ear.

He hissed at him. Growling insults, but Altair remained quiet. He struck him across the face, then tangled his fingers forcefully in his hair and crushed their mouths together.

Altair responded then, his arms going up, curling at the nape of Malik's neck and they stumbled backward.

Malik was prepared to fight, teeth bared, eyes wild, but Altair didn't resist, even when Malik tore away his clothes and pinned him again, leaving bloody bruised marks across his shoulders from bites, scratching red lines across his stomach and thighs. He pushed until finally he realized, Altair wasn't fighting him. Wasn't trying to push him back, or wrest the control from him. He was giving it over willingly.

Malik struck him again and rocked backward away from him, even as Altair followed him on hands and knees across the bed; "I don't want your pity!" He snarled at the younger man, teeth flashing. "You think this—This submissive act will please me? You're a bastard, Altair. Leave me!"

Altair came to his knees, eyes connected purposefully with Malik's seemingly alive with amber flames. He caught his hand, and kissed it, tongue working over the cuts and bruises on his knuckles and fingers, turning it gently in his own and pressing his lips to Malik's palm.

He shook. His voice coming out with a little less force than he'd wanted. "Stop it…"

But, Altair didn't. He pulled, firm but gentle, drawing Malik to his knees, and curling his arms around his waist, head lowering to nip and lick at the faded marks on his throat and shoulders. Planting innumerable little open mouthed kisses from his collar bone to his jaw.

And through it, Malik was rigid, slightly ticklish as the other man worked around his throat, and started down his chest.

The quiet hurt his ears, his head ringing with a sound like empty bells, his chest heaving even as he felt Altair's mouth close over his left nipple, drawing gently and scraping with sharp teeth.

The sheer intensity of it made his mouth drop open and a shudder run through his body. "Stop it…"

His skin seemed charged, burning and hypersensitive as he lowered himself to the sheets, the rasp of flesh on linen loud in the room.

Long fingers smoothed up his sides, counting each rib, caressing each ripple of muscle, combing through his body hair and up to cup his face. Their eyes met, and Malik tried to put as much venom into the kiss as possible. Biting and gnashing his teeth, catching Altair's lip between them and pinching it until it bled.

But as deep as the kiss was, Altair didn't bite, didn't claw at him, or squeeze his jaws to make him let go. Even though his eyes clouded, he didn't strike back. His touches were firm, a man's hand on a man's body, calluses over scars, muscle and course fuzz. Goose flesh rose on Malik's body and he tried to fight the pleasure these strange touches shot through his body. Tried to make himself deflate so Altair would leave, tried to still his racing heart and panted breath. Sinking his teeth into his tongue to stifle the little breathy noises his body betrayed him in trying to make.

Altair hooked fingers in the edge of Malik's trousers and drew them down slowly, kissing and practically worshiping the sharp jut of his hip bones. Nipping and tasting the inner curve of his abdomen, and the place that leg became body where the skin was pale having never been touched by the sun, and soft save for a thin line of scar tissue, raised and pale against his flesh.

Malik couldn't breathe, and he twisted, pushing on Altair's head desperately. "What are you playing at? I will not break! Stop this!" He pulled, but couldn't bring himself to yank very hard, finding himself trapped by Altair's eyes as the man drew him slowly out of his clothes with chilled fingers and a warm mouth.

Malik was shivering, unable to cope as Altair kissed the scars on his knees, the bruises and marks on his thighs and he couldn't keep himself from arching, head thrown back, mouth opened on a soft keening noise as a wide, wet stripe was licked up the length of his manhood.

Malik threw his arm over his face, head shaking back and forth, and his breath sobbed from his chest.

And at that, Altair did stop, hovering over the older man with his head turned gently to the side.

Malik was still, rigid for a long while, fighting for breath, and choking and suddenly, as if realizing he was no longer being touched he lunged upward, pushing Altair harshly away with his palm flat on the middle of his face, words coming out in a pale whisper that sounded so hurt and betrayed, pain jabbed through Alatir's chest;

"I hate you…"

He wrapped his arms around Malik's shoulders, the stump of his left arm trapped between their chests, right hand flailing for a moment, scratching at his arms, and he struggled as if trapped. Twisting and arching, a brief, fast thing, like a little death, and he went limp, forehead against Altair's chest, fingers curled possessively on his forearm.

"Why…" He inhaled thickly through his nose, a wet clogged sound, and coughed before he continued. "Why are you doing this… Is it not enough that I'm below you in all other things, you have to reduce me to a slobbering helpless THING as well?" He growled, the usually threatening sound coming out wounded and broken. "I am not a woman! I will not break! I will not scream and cry if you become forceful! Stop treating me as though I am weak! I am not HELPLESS! Have I not shown that to you? Have I not proven myself worthy? Strong enough? If I did not want you I would not have let you touch me in the first pla—" His voice suddenly cut off, teeth creaking as he clenched them, body gone tense.

"I do not think you are weak…" He nuzzled the dark hair curling around Malik's ear, his breath warm. "I have scars that prove you are not weak… I have an ache that craves your strength." He pressed his mouth close to Malik's ear, whispering; "You took me and I could not breathe… I could not think—"

"You let me because you pity me, because you feel guilt—"

"No."

Malik scoffed and refused to meet his gaze.

"How can I prove it?"

Malik started twisting again. "Prove it?" He arched and pulled away, huddling against the headboard like a frightened bird, ready to fly. "You stupid ass! I need no proof that you pity me! I know it to be true."

"How?"

Malik pointed at him accusingly. "That! You were petting, and pawing at me as though I were a fragile thing! If it is not true then treat me as an equal like you did before and let's be done with this!"

Altair grew still, kneeling in the middle of the bed, naked amid the rumpled blankets. He had never been good with words, his expertise lie with weapons and the art of death.

Malik reigned over words as much as he reigned over Altair's heart.

"Is the way I treated you before any different than how an untrained novice treats a blade?"

Malik's face contorted and his mouth opened—

But no sound came out.

Not a breath.

Nothing.

Altair slowly crawled forward until he was mere inches from Malik and slowly lifted his hands again, one on each cheek, rubbing the tears away with the pads of his thumbs.

"I will not break…" It was only the barest of whispers, and Altair kissed the doubt away. Drawing the other man to lie against the pillows.

Words were forgotten, and in the silence things were said that neither knew they'd had the capacity to convey.

Altair kissed slowly down his body, tracing each scar and bruise with fingertips and tongue. Their skin whispering strange ancient languages when they touched.

Eyes connected and Malik saw fire dancing there, unbridled passion, that rivaled the ferocity at which merely two weeks ago they'd thrown punches. His breath quickened, lips parted and panting, as hands ran over him, fingers rigid and applying the slightest amount of pressure to cause his body to arch upward.

His eyes didn't stop running, strange as it was, the tears felt like a relief. As if the angry bitter shell his emotions had been hiding within was melting away.

Fingers drew arcane patterns across his chest and stomach and legs, and he wondered if Altair's fingers had been dipped in ink, what the tapestry of lines he was creating would look like.

It seemed like in an instant he was hard again, the very currents of the air making his flesh tingle and his hips buck searching for friction.

Altair's body was a shade lighter than his own, marked in places with thick heavily textured scars, many he remembered treating himself, many more others he'd never seen before. Sweat glowed in a thin sheen on his skin, giving their bodies enough of a slick surface to slip gently on.

Malik found himself drinking in the sight of the other man, his hand finally lifting from the bed to trace along a deep mark cutting a chunk from Altair's right shoulder. The flesh was pink thin and smooth and he found himself touching it with hesitant fingers, following the puckered lines radiating from its center up the other man's neck and into his hair, roving around on his scalp until he'd made his hair stand on end like ruffled feathers.

He felt dumb in a way. A muted primal kind of curiosity, sitting up and sliding into Altair's lap, their erections lined up and pulsing against their stomachs with every subtle movement.

Touch, be touched with unnaturally gentle fingers, turned into blunt instruments like those of a child.

They kissed, tasting the other, warmth and a strange salty tang. Facial hair rasped and the longer hairs on Malik's chin caught on the short ones prickling sparsely on Altair's jaw.

Altair's fingers traveled up the ridges of his spine, counting the small notches through his skin. He kissed along his chest, drawing first one nipple and then the other into his mouth, sucking and rolling it between his teeth, following the living thrum of his pulse in his neck, breathing the hot, spicy scent of sweat and arousal.

His fingers were hesitant, head bowed into Malik's shoulder, seeming to shrink in on himself as he slid his hand, like a breath over the left shoulder, and down the scar riddled stump of his left arm. Finding the skin and muscle twisted.

Malik drew swirling patterns on the back of his neck while he investigated and burned these usually hidden places into his mind. Touching it almost reverently.

The younger man suddenly pulled his shoulder up to his ear, shivering when Malik's breath tickled and he felt his mouth twitch, felt himself smiling and their eyes locked once more.

His gaze didn't stay on Malik's eyes, flicking back and forth from his mouth to the round darkness of his pupils, feeling the other man rocking gently in his lap, the slow friction between them just enough to keep them aroused.

Slowly, his hands slid down, over the dips of his spine and the angles of his hips, curling possessively around thighs and behind, pulling and rocking upward, watching as the other man slowly lowered himself onto the bed.

There was a strange, relaxed urgency in their movements, the spice of oil slicking fingers, spreading and sliding, sweat beading on brows, kisses becoming deeper, breath quickening.

Malik's eyes slid closed, lips parting, shining with spit, hair sticking to his forehead and neck as Altair slid home inside him. Fingers blunt, biting into the back of the younger man's neck, legs tensing slightly with the first uncomfortable push.

He rocked slowly, braced on his elbows, hands petting at Malik's face and hair, kisses against his lips, words that weren't words whispered into his neck.

There was a constant full stretch, and a slow build of pleasure, legs tightening with every thrust, hand slipping and sliding in the sweat coating Altair's back.

The quiet was broken only by their breath, sighs and little moans that gained frequency, seeming to echo out of their throats in the little bubble of peace that surrounded them.

There were no insults, no curses, just the slick sound of skin on skin, and the need in their moans.

It seemed to Malik to last for a lifetime, and yet not long enough, until the friction between them pulled release from him like a prayer. A quiet cry from the back of his throat, heels digging into Altair's back, fingers pulling his head and shoulders down.

White did not dance before his eyes, Angels did not sing, but it felt so right, and left him lying boneless on the bed gasping for breath, Altair collapsed on his chest skin tingling, ears ringing, hearts pounding, gentle chaste kisses on his shoulder soft nibbles and a tickle of hair on his ear.

Malik's eyes felt heavy and he didn't bother opening them, just let his fingers play across Altair's back, until his heart slowed and heaviness sank into his limbs.

He didn't climb out of the bed, didn't pull on his clothes and hatefully retreat, and when Altair tried to roll away he followed him, and they lie facing each other in the darkness.

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